Chapter 15

Emily - YEARS AGO

The next day, I could barely look at Bete and Carlos, but they seemed completely oblivious to anything other than each other.

Their kisses and touches were so intimate that I wondered if they hadn’t hooked up before. Marcos was always so careful when touching me, waiting for my reaction before continuing, but our friends seemed to have known each other’s bodies for years, touching with a familiarity that felt effortless.

“You two planning to let go of each other anytime soon? I need to take the girls home,” Marcos was the first to speak since we started having breakfast.

“My mom thinks I’m at Bete’s, and her parents are out of town. I think we can stay a bit longer,” I murmured, hesitantly sitting on his lap.

“You sure?” His touch on my face was so light and brief it almost felt like it didn’t happen. “I don’t want you getting in trouble…”

“Yes, she’s sure, cowboy,” Bete growled, cutting him off and finally sitting down. Even she had noticed how protective he was.

We spent the day at the ranch, helping Carlos collect eggs, milk the cows, and feed the animals. The property didn’t raise cattle or have crops—just a garden and orchard for personal use. The Ferreira family lived on a ranch purely for the joy of it.

By late afternoon, we piled into his pickup and reluctantly headed back to town, but my thoughts kept drifting to Marcos and me. Except for last night, he still touched me with extra caution.

“I want you to teach me to be like you,” I said, sitting next to Bete on my bed.

Night had fallen, and the thought of Marcos not being at ease with me hadn’t left my mind.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Carlos. You started hooking up yesterday, and you already seem more intimate than Marcos and me.” She’d confided that they’d slept together, which didn’t surprise me since she was so confident in her sexuality.

“It’s not like that, Emy. Everyone’s different. You and Marcos are cute; he sees you as his little princess. Me and the cowboy are fire—that’s the difference,” she explained with a sly grin.

“I’m just tired of him acting like he’s walking on eggshells with me. I want him to desire me the way he did with others,” I whined. “I want him to touch me without fear.”

“He desires you. You said yourself what you two did yesterday…” She tried, unsuccessfully, to cheer me up.

“But this morning, we were back to square one—him touching me carefully, not with desire. It’s like he’s afraid I’ll break if he does what he really wants.” I started pacing the room, unable to shake the thought that we’d only gotten so intense last night because the fight had us both on edge. “Marcos isn’t being himself with me.”

I felt like a lunatic every time I went for him, like some brazen woman trying to seduce a shy boy when, in reality, it was the complete opposite.

“Tell him that. Talk to him, Emily. Tell him you’re tired of all this.” We hadn’t communicated, and that was the root of yesterday’s problems. She was right—we needed to improve our communication if we wanted this to work.

It took a week to finally talk to Marcos privately and calmly. Things weren’t good with his dad, so he forbade me from going to his place. Bianca spent most of her time at my house or Bete’s, which left us with less privacy. His life was pure chaos, and I didn’t want to push, but I needed to talk to him.

“You have no idea what a relief it is to finally be like this with you, just us, no stress,” he murmured against my hair.

We were lying on the grass in the park, stargazing. Summer had arrived, so people stayed out late, and the park was crowded.

“I wanted to talk to you,” I started, trying to muster the courage. “I know you’re swamped with problems, but it’s really important.”

He sat up suddenly, fully focused on what I was saying. As I leaned closer, I noticed his tense shoulders and arms, the sadness and exhaustion on his face, like he was bracing for the worst. It almost made me give up and drop the subject, but I couldn’t—this was stalling our relationship when I wanted more.

“I knew this was coming. It took you longer than I expected to get tired of me.” My heart, already full of anxiety, shattered with hurt. “A girl like you doesn’t stay with a guy like me for long…”

“Marcos Almeida, swallow that nonsense before you cross a line,” I snapped, pointing a finger at him, cutting him off before he could say something he couldn’t take back. “Let me speak. Since the day at the ranch, I’ve wanted to tell you I don’t feel you’re at ease with me. I’ve noticed you’re always groping in the dark, and now I see why. What do you mean by ‘a girl like me’?”

“Rich, well-off, with a good family and a bright future ahead,” he said, painting his image of me while staring at the sky.

“Look at me!” I demanded, unable to believe that’s all he saw in me. “You have no idea how much that hurts me.”

“That’s why I avoided getting involved with you as much as I couldW3C could. I knew you’d get tired of playing the bad boy. Your friends call it that, don’t they?” I stood up, furious at his accusations. I couldn’t believe I’d been so naive to think he truly liked me.

“What are you talking about? You think I’m with you because my friends think it’s cool or because you’re a bad boy and I wanted to play with you? I care about you so much, Marcos, and all you give me in return is brotherly care!” I exploded, speaking too loudly. “That’s what I wanted to talk about. I came here determined to ask you to open up to me, to have more intimacy, to stop touching me like I’m a doll about to break. I know I might be inexperienced in many ways, but I’m willing to discover everything with you. But I see now that you have other thoughts…”

“What?” He stood, grabbing my arm to stop me from leaving. “What are you talking about, Emily? I thought you were giving me this whole speech as an excuse to dump me.”

“No!” I exclaimed, shocked. We were like two people trying to speak different languages. “I’m not breaking up with you. I’m upset that you don’t feel for me the same way you did for the women you were with before. You’re even afraid to touch me. Why this extreme caution with me, Marcos?”

“Because you’re too much for me, don’t you see that?” he shouted. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t deserve you, Emy. Not even if I lived two lifetimes would I deserve you.” His voice was now barely a whisper.

“My God, what kind of nonsense have you been putting in your head?” I said, stunned. It couldn’t be true—Marcos couldn’t feel unworthy of me. “You think you don’t deserve me?” He nodded. “Well, I wonder what you saw in me.” His sigh was loud. “What caught the attention of the most sought-after guy, the famous Marcos Almeida, in me? That’s the question I ask the universe every day.”

“Emy, for heaven’s sake. You’re beautiful, sweet, kind, and smart. Any guy who doesn’t want to be with you is either too stupid or blind!” His declaration moved me, but not as much as seeing my big, strong Marcos feeling so inferior.

No one should ever feel like that—diminishing themselves, thinking they’re not worthy of someone, not worthy of love. Everyone is special in their own way, and no one had ever shown that to him.

Marcos had never had the chance to feel special or deserving of anything.

“You, Marcos Almeida, are sweet, strong, protective, and kind to everyone,” I said, holding his face in my hands and staring into his eyes with all the determination in my being, as if that would make him believe every word. “You’re sensitive to others’ pain in a way that shocks me, and I wonder how you can be so young and so sure of yourself and what you want.” I kept his gaze locked on mine. “You take care of your sister, help the neighbors, work, and still find time for me. If anyone here doesn’t deserve the other, it’s me, damn it. You’re extraordinary, love.”

He pulled me into a tight embrace. I felt his body tremble and knew he was too emotional to speak. I wrapped my arms around him, trying to pour all my love into that hug.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, my Emy,” he murmured against my hair, sniffling.

I was the one who didn’t know what I’d do without him. I couldn’t imagine a single day without talking to him, without having his arms to run to. Marcos Almeida was my safe harbor!